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I’m not ready.
I might never be ready. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize.”
“I do.” His honeyed breath feathers my inner thigh.
Too close.
I press the hem of my skirt, trying to block his heat and mine. “It already happened. You should be focusing on getting your pack back together.”
“No.” He pouts, sticking out a bottom lip that’s ten times more lush than legal.
I can’t.
I can’t have him crawling into me, practically begging me without melting like soft serve. “You belong with them. I don’t.“
“The fuck I do.” Orion rumbles so rough, the couch cushion vibrates. “You know what pisses me off? If I hadn’t taken their shit for so many years, that night never would’ve happened.”
I squeeze my eyes against the memory.
Orion was so drugged he was slurring when I dragged him to his nest. Pheromones at nuclear, he was drunk on a long, long overdue heat.
He had no idea what was happening.
But even if he did?
“It’s not like you could’ve claimed me. I shouldn’t have gone upstairs.” It feels even stupider now, the hope that they’d be all, come on in, join the fuckfest, intruder omega we never wanted.
I blame the pain.
It corroded my brain.
Now I know exactly where I stand.
By myself.
“I’d claim you if I could.” His hands slip to the outsides of my knees, warm and gentle, careful not to touch my scrapes.
“The guys—”
“You can fucking take ‘em. As long as I get to keep you.”
My heart gives a giddy flop. “That’s not how this works. They’re your mates.”
“Not anymore.” His fingers tense.
I flinch at the pain in his voice. “Orion…”
“The only thing I ever wanted was to be good enough for them. Then I awakened and everything got so twisted. Felt like I owed it to them to be the perfect omega, but I was never built for that. Still don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m glad the pack broke. Now they can’t keep me away from you.”
“Can you…?” I wave at the couch, hoping he’ll move so we can have this very serious conversation at a level that doesn’t make me want to scoot my hips into his face.
“I’m good.” Orion hooks his elbows over my thighs, using me like a prayer bench.
My throat makes motions, but I can’t pretend I want him to move.
He’s warm.
Hard and soft, and the only person in the world whose touch just feels right. He soothes the primal panic after another night of running for my life.
